


Heart of a Rebel

by kgirl1



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-10-23 23:05:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10729146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kgirl1/pseuds/kgirl1
Summary: A three-part work depicting Kallus's first few weeks adjusting to his new identity.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I started working on this way back when we originally found out (or, depending on who you ask, confirmed our strong suspicions) that Kallus was Fulcrum. Now that he's officially a rebel, I figured what better time to post it?
> 
> P.S. During that time Sabine was still with the rebels, so if you're wondering why she's on the rebel base and not Mandalore, there you go. I like to think that she stuck around with the space family anyways.

Oddly enough, the ship that he had spent so much time hunting was the place he felt the most comfortable— or at least, the least threatened. Word had spread fast around the base, and everywhere he went, he was followed by whispering about his past. At least on the _Ghost_ he knew the faces he encountered (even if it was only because he had spent the last few years obsessively studying them) and he knew that nobody would try to attack him from behind (and they were polite enough to do their whispering behind closed doors, where he couldn't hear it). His alternative option to the _Ghost_ was sitting in his quarters, which reminded him too much of how he'd spent his time with the Empire (something he'd never tell anyone, not even Zeb).

He had thought he'd spend his days here divulging the Empire's secrets, busy fulfilling his work as Fulcrum. And that had happened, but not nearly as much as he'd thought. The rebellion kept a full schedule, so the sessions were never more than a few hours at a time, and he'd already given up the majority of the useful information. Kallus had found himself with much more free time than he'd anticipated.

Occasionally, Syndulla would put him to work— menial tasks, like scrubbing carbon scoring, something that only the lowliest of the low would be relegated to in the Empire (but around here everyone seemed to pitch in regardless of status; he'd seen the Phoenix Captain herself cleaning the refresher). She always seemed reluctant to assign him such tedious work, but he had started requesting the jobs. They were a welcome distraction; he could be alone for hours without being questioned, threatened or whispered about, and he appreciated having his thoughts (dreadful, clamoring, traitorous things that they had been lately) occupied.

Even if the ship's common room was empty, his quarters were still lonelier. Bridger and Jarrus were usually training (especially since every time Bridger saw Kallus on the _Ghost,_ the boy vanished like one). Wren and Garazeb were the most likely to pass through the ship, but it had been quiet all day. Syndulla (easily the busiest of them all—when the captain wasn't in meetings or briefings, she was training new pilots) (Kallus had started to wonder when and if the fearsome leader slept) was actually on board today, tinkering around somewhere, and he found the noise comforting. She'd welcomed him on:

" _Captain Syndulla," he greeted._

" _Kallus." Her eyebrow quirked up in amusement. "This isn't another personal mission, is it?"_

_He allowed himself to relax and smile. "No, not today."_

_She was waiting expectantly, he realized, and cleared his throat. "Ah, I was wondering if I could sit on the ship for a while."_

_Syndulla looked at him, then to the_ Ghost, _then back to him, debating. "Just… sit… on the ship?"_

_He nodded, hoping she wouldn't ask for further explanation. Eventually, the twi'lek just shrugged._

" _Sure."_

_He followed her up the ship's ramp, his shoulders slack with relief. Syndulla turned halfway around and shook a finger at him._

" _Don't touch anything."_

He was fairly certain she had been joking, but he'd relegated himself to the common room bench all the same. The time passed peacefully; he listened to Syndulla work, observed the art that covered the walls, and tried not to think too hard about how he'd never had a home like this one.

Bridger came in. Kallus jolted in surprise at the disruption, and the teen's expression soured once he recognized Kallus.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

The inquiry only compounded Kallus's earlier thoughts, that as much as he lied to himself, as much time as he spent sitting on the ship, as familiar as he thought he was with its layout and art, he would never have a true place on it. It was their home; he was merely a visitor, optimistically a guest but more likely an intruder.

He still hadn't answered Bridger's question (mainly because he didn't have a good answer), so the teen just rolled his eyes.

"Have you seen Hera?"

Kallus pulled himself out of his thoughts and nodded. "She's—"

"Oh, good, Ezra, you're here." Hera appeared at the door as if she'd heard them. "Can you take Kallus to surplus for a new uniform?"

The twi'lek said it as casually as if she were asking him to pass her a power wrench, but he reacted as if she wanted a kidney.

"Me?" Bridger looked indignant.

"Him?" Kallus was equally surprised. The pair had barely interacted since they'd worked together on his attempted rescue mission, and while Bridger had treated him courteously thus far, the suspicion hadn't left his eyes.

"Yes, you," Syndulla replied to Bridger. "It's already hard enough to warm everyone up to the idea of an ex-Imperial in our midst. The less we can remind them, the better."

"Wait, that's what you called me here for?" Bridger sputtered. Hera nodded. "Why can't Kanan or Zeb do it?" He whined.

Hera shifted her weight to one hip and folded her arms, and Kallus had been around enough women to know that, between her body language and tone, the discussion was already over.

Bridger, on the other hand, not so much. He gaped between Syndulla and Kallus as if expecting one of them to save him from his plight. Kallus could only stand there, awkwardly cringing, while Syndulla just emphasized the firmness of her stance. Eventually, a silent sigh of resignation passed through the boy.

"Fine," he huffed, standing up.

If the Phoenix Captain noticed his slumping shoulders (and knowing how observant the woman was, she did), she didn't acknowledge them. "Thank you."

"Come on," Bridger gestured at Kallus. "And just so you know, I've got my lightsaber on me," he added, his tone punching the air.

"Ezra," Syndulla rebuked.

The boy lifted his hands. "I'm just saying!"

"Duly noted, Jabba," Kallus muttered. Syndulla put her hands on her hips and stifled some exhalation (optimistically a chuckle, pessimistically a groan), and they were off.

The journey through the hallways of the base was as long and winding as it was tense. Eventually (and after, he could have sworn, taking several false and unnecessary turns, as if the boy thought he was deceiving him and protecting the base by hiding their uniform closet), Bridger led him through one of the doors.

"These crates should be labeled by size and article," he said boredly, sitting down on one himself. "There's boots, pants, the tunic and belt, and light shoulder armor if you want it. You know, in case someone tries to shoot you from behind."

If he had intended that to be a joke, his tone was not nearly as light as it should have been. Kallus opened one of the crates— neatly folded blue, gray and brown tunics stared back at him. He frowned. "What's the significance of each? I assume I need to find the lowest-ranked…"

"Significance?" Bridger shook his head. "Just pick one. And don't expect me to tell you what looks good on you."

"They're just… different colors? Completely arbitrarily?" Kallus could hardly believe it.

Bridger shrugged. "Welcome to the rebellion."

Kallus weighed his options with a small smile on his face. He couldn't remember the last time he'd picked out his own clothing. The gray would probably blend in more, but…

He glanced to the blue. When was the last time he'd worn an actual color, rather than a neutral shade? He set the gray back in the crate and set about finding the rest of the outfit. When he had it in hand, he glanced around the room, awkwardly shifting his weight. If he had to change right there, so be it, but he would hate to give Bridger the satisfaction.

Thankfully, the boy seemed to read his thoughts (that was probably exactly what happened, Jedi that he was) and pointed to a group of partitions on the other side of the room. "You can change over there."

"You're not going to force me to strip down in front of the entire Rebellion, to pay for my crimes?" Even Kallus didn't know if he was joking.

Bridger shrugged. "Hera wouldn't let me." Had his tone been one shade lighter, it could have passed as deadpan—instead it came as blunt honesty.

"You know, you need to work on your jokes," Kallus said, as he made for the partitions.

"Wasn't joking."

The ex-agent sighed, set his clothes down and starting stripping. His old uniform reeked, and was matted with blood from Thrawn's inflictions. Things had been busy since they'd come to the base; he hadn't had the time or resources to change, and while medical care had been offered, he denied it vehemently, insisting that others were treated before him. Kallus still couldn't shake the thought that he didn't deserve their kindness.

He peeled the clothes off, feeling immensely distant from the young Academy cadet who had been bursting with pride and excitement to wear the Imperial colors (or _color_ , he now noted with fresh disdain). He wondered briefly if they had even been the same person. Was this who he was always destined to become, or had fate simply dropped a cruel twist into his path? Was it chance that he'd gotten stuck on that moon with Zeb, or could it have been any Imperial officer dragged into the escape pod?

He would never know—all he knew was that he was here, now, that he'd done it. Defected from the Empire. Originally his greatest fear; now simply another dot on the timeline of his life.

Kallus was glad there wasn't a mirror behind the panel; he didn't think he could handle watching himself strip his old identity for a new one. He was still trying to process the simple fact that he'd done it.

Everything fit, although his chest felt lighter, without the armor. He traced the triangle that had taken its place over his sternum. When he re-emerged, Bridger barely glanced over the uniform before standing up to lead him out. Kallus had to admit, he was faintly disappointed by the lack of reaction.

"What do I do with my old uniform?" He asked.

"I'm sure I could find someone who'd be happy to burn it for you," the kid replied. Kallus stiffened at the thought, at the harshness of it, and then scolded himself. He had left that world behind; there was no need to keep any attachments to it. "Ready?"

Kallus nodded. "Yes."

He tried to pay attention to his surroundings on the way back, with the new mindset that this place would become his home.

"Hera, we're back," Bridger called. They entered the common room, where Wren was reclined next to Jarrus, cleaning a blaster. Her eyes bugged out.

"Kallus?"

Awkwardly, he nodded. The girl studied him for a moment, and then smirked. "Blue looks good on you."

"He's still an Imperial," Bridger scoffed, brushing past them both and disappearing down the _Ghost's_ hallway.

"Ezra," Jarrus called, disappointment coloring his tone, but the teen was gone.

"Ignore him," Zeb entered, rolling his eyes in Bridger's wake, and gave Kallus a once-over. "Looks great, mate."

"Thank you." Kallus accepted this praise somewhat uncomfortably.

"I was about to go and get some grub. Anyone else?" Zeb looked around the room. Wren held up her dirty hands with a smile and shake of her head. "Chief?"

Jarrus chuckled. _"Hera_ already ate. I did too."

Zeb raised an eyebrow at Kallus.

"Ah, no, I ate as well," Kallus said.

"Suit y'selves," Zeb shrugged and lumbered out. "More for me."

Kallus found himself standing awkwardly in the kitchen with Jarrus and Wren. After a far too uncomfortable silence, he was about to excuse himself, when Wren spoke up.

She arched an inquisitive eyebrow at him. "Ever cleaned a blaster, Kallus?"

He was so taken aback by the fact that she had even addressed him that it took him a moment to reply. "Hundreds."

"Here." She slid one across the table to him. "Make yourself useful."

Kallus looked up at her in wide-eyed surprise. "You… trust me with this?"

Wren shrugged. "It's not charged." She passed him a cleaning rag. "But if it was, I'd still get three shots in before you even realized you were thinking about pulling the trigger."

The smirk on her face, and the nonchalance with which she said it, accompanied by Jarrus's chuckle of "She's not wrong," made it clear that the threat was a jocular one. Kallus breathed a sigh of relief.

"Guess I won't think about it then," he said, and picked up a rag himself. He pretended not to notice when Wren and Jarrus exchanged a smile.

When all of the weapons (a shocking amount, really, for a teenage girl, but then again she was Mandalorian) were clean, Wren had inspected his handiwork with a half-smile and a "Not bad," and Kallus had smiled back at her. She and Jarrus went off to store the blasters, and he was left thinking that it was by far the most amicable interaction they'd shared.


	2. Chapter 2

Not long after Jarrus and Wren had left the common room, his stomach growled, disturbing the quiet. Kallus had been avoiding the commissary ever since a bad experience on his first day there. He tried to slip in at odd times, when he knew it wouldn't be busy, but for the most part he just skipped meals.

His stomach growled at him again and he sighed, deciding to acknowledge it. Kallus stood up—

His vision blurred, his legs gave out, and he promptly found himself on the floor. He rubbed his head, groaning, when he heard footsteps, and remembered with a stab of panic that Syndulla was still somewhere on the ship. Kallus couldn't pull himself up fast enough to save his dignity, so when Captain Syndulla of the Phoenix Squadron came rushing in, she found him sprawled on the floor, collapsed on his rear end. The twi'lek must have flipped through a dozen or so facial expressions (confusion, amusement, and alarm among them) before finally settling on concern.

"I heard a bang," she said. "You okay?"

"Fine," he said, painfully aware of how not-fine he looked.

Syndulla just arched an eyebrow (a look, he was now realizing, she had mastered), giving him a chance to change his answer.

"I am," he insisted. "Just a little—"

"Dizzy?" She put her hands on her hips. "That's what happens, when you don't eat all day."

He blinked in surprise. "I— I don't know what you're talking about."

"Kallus, let's agree not to lie to each other, alright?" She shook her head. "Your ID allows us to track everywhere you've swiped in. You haven't been to the commissary once today."

"Well, I, uh—" He felt flustered and embarrassed; it didn't help that he was still sprawled on the floor.

"Come on," Syndulla gestured for him to get up. "There's broth in the galley."

"I don't—"

She stuck her hand out, interrupting him purely because he was so shocked by the gesture. He must have looked like a complete buffoon, gaping up at her from the floor, staring at her extended hand like it was some rare alien creature, and it was this image of himself in his mind that spurred him to the motion of taking it, and heaving himself up. He grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself, still a little shaky.

She eyed him carefully. "You okay?"

"Yes," he nodded. "Thank you."

She led him into the galley, where he sat at the table feeling ashamed of himself, and she heated up a bowl of broth.

"So." Syndulla sat down across from him, something he'd been hoping she wouldn't do. "Why aren't you eating?"

Kallus gratefully took the bowl and tried to eat according to the lie he was about to tell, rather than wolfing it down like his stomach was suggesting. "I just… haven't been hungry today. That's all."

"Do you want us to trust you, Kallus?" She asked. He was surprised by the directness of the question.

"I… Well, of course," he stammered.

"Then stop lying to me," Syndulla said firmly. "You've barely been at commissary all week. Why?"

Kallus thought about lying but then decided against it. He looked down at the broth, then back up at her. Syndulla raised an eyebrow as if that would draw the answer out of him, and eventually he sighed. Clearly, there would be no compromising on this one.

"I'm not… welcome there," he said finally.

She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean, not welcome?"

"I mean that the first time I went, I had food thrown at me," he said quickly. Kallus couldn't lift his eyes from the table, and hot shame burned his cheeks. He felt like a little kid again, tattling on cafeteria bullies that had stolen his dessert. It was mortifying, and the worst part was that Syndulla seemed genuinely concerned.

" _What?"_ Her voice, though collected, carried a swirling current of outrage beneath the surface. He felt his face grow redder, and regretted that he'd said anything at all.

"Please, Captain, I don't want to bother you, it's nothing—" He couldn't meet her eyes.

"It is most certainly not _nothing,"_ she said forcefully. "They threw food at you?"

Kallus felt sick. "Not much—"

She held up a hand; he promptly stopped talking. "Tell me what happened. From the beginning."

* * *

Word had spread fast that an ex-Imperial agent would be joining the base, so it was no surprise to Kallus that he heard whispers behind his back when he entered the commissary. It was his first time going alone; the rebels had taken extreme precautions with him, something that had been suffocating but understandable, and he was finally allowed to roam the base more freely.

He ignored the whispers and got in line with the others, trying to keep his head down. He asked for the same food the woman in front of him had ordered, and when his tray was full, quickly walked to a table at the back of the room, without surveying it for people he knew. Partially because there were exactly five people he knew, partially because he didn't even know them very well, partially because he doubted they would want to eat with him anyways, and partially because he didn't want to stand out any more than necessary.

He set his tray down only to realize that he had forgotten silverware, which was on the other side of the commissary.

How convenient.

The whispers hadn't stopped. Kallus kept his eyes trained on the floor as he crossed, passing table after table of rebels, all of whom seemed to grow quieter as he neared them. He exhaled a sigh of relief when he made it to the baskets of silverware, but when he reached for a knife, a stranger's hand clamped around his wrist. Kallus recoiled to find himself face to face with a rebel pilot.

The man leered at him. "Think you're ready to be trusted with that?"

Kallus held up his hands. "Please, I don't want any trouble—"

"Don't want any trouble?" The pilot scoffed. "Should have thought of that before you thought you could saunter onto our base, Imperial."

Kallus gritted his teeth. "I am no longer an Imperial."

"Once an Imp, always an Imp," the man hissed. "I know your kind, agent. You're probably still as brainwashed as you were the day you left the Academy."

He leaned in closer and grabbed Kallus's shoulder. "You may be here with us, but you'll always be one of them."

Kallus kept his voice level. "I'm done serving the Empire—"

"Oh, "serving the Empire," is that what you call it?" The pilot mocked, raising his voice. "Not genocide? Murder? Mass destruction?"

Kallus opened his mouth to speak, but the agitator didn't want to hear it.

"My wife and daughter were killed by your kind," he glowered.

"They are _not_ my kind—"

"Don't interrupt me!" The man snapped. "Haven't you interrupted enough?! Enough peace, enough order, enough lives?! How _dare_ you come here, with the conscience you think is so clean, eating our food like you're one of us! The blood of thousands is on your hands, and you can't even see it!"

Kallus was too stunned to answer.

"Well, I can," the rebel growled, grabbing his tray and clutching it with white-knuckled hands. "And I'll make sure everybody else can, too." He hurled the tray at Kallus; its corner knocked brutally into his sternum and sent food spraying all over his clothes. "That's for my wife and daughter!"

Kallus staggered back, food dripping down his legs, and the anger in the man's eyes blazed brighter. His mouth opened and closed, trying to process what had happened, as the point of impact throbbed.

Before he could even think, another tray collided with his shoulder. His eyes, wide with shock, searched the crowd for the attacker.

A woman had stood up and was glaring at him, her fists balled in anger. "For my parents!"

The room was crackling with energy; a single spark enough to send them all up in flames, and the pilot had provided it. Pilots, infantrymen and soldiers were rising faster than he could count. Another tray hit him, then another. Fruit, food, caf, all of it, raining down in a deluge of hate.

"For my village!"

"For Onderon!"

"Imperial scum!"

Another projectile hit him with each outcry, until he could no longer distinguish between the attacks.

"For my children!"

"My city!"

"For Lasan!"

He was backed up against the silverware stand, food splattering from every angle. It was all he could do to defend himself from the intermittent metal tray.

"Go back to the Empire!"

"For my mother!"

"You'll never be one of us!"

"Murderer!"

Kallus blocked his face with his arms, but it was his ears he wished he could cover. The onslaught rained on.

* * *

Kallus stared at the floor when he was finished, too embarrassed to even look at her.

"This is unacceptable."

His head snapped up; the Phoenix captain was bristling with anger. "How long ago was this?"

He winced. "It was one of my first days on the base—"

"Did you go to medical?" She demanded. Syndulla, too angry to stay still, stood up to pace. "Those trays leave bruises, you know." Her footsteps punctuated each word.

"I didn't—" Kallus paused. "How do you know that?"

Syndulla ignored him. "That kind of behavior is completely intolerable."

"Captain, it was nothing—"

"It was not 'nothing,'" she stopped in her tracks. "But why they would do something _so_ despicable—"

"They don't trust me," he cut her off.

Syndulla put her hands on her hips, and her voice took on an all-too-familiar didactic tone. "Not trusting someone is different from throwing a cafeteria tray at them."

"Can you blame them?" Kallus sighed. Despite her own frenetic wrath, a deep sense of resignation had settled within him. "You don't trust me either. You're only here because you looked me up and realized I hadn't been to the commissary."

He didn't sound accusatory, just weary and resigned. Syndulla crossed and uncrossed her arms while her expression flipped through an array of emotions.

"Well." She finally settled for a frustrated sigh. "We did agree not to lie to each other."

He harrumphed, and she sat down at the table, each gazing at nothing and sorting their own thoughts. Syndulla's active rage seemed to settle into something quiet but still determined, and after several minutes, she was the one to break the silence.

"You know, there's a pilot here, who didn't think a twi'lek could be Phoenix captain."

He looked up; Syndulla was still staring at the floor. "He thought I would better serve the rebellion as an entertainer," she scoffed. Kallus could feel the scorn rolling off her, and the derision in her voice cut the air.

He must have looked confused, because she gave him a sly smile and said, "You asked me how I knew that the trays left bruises."

Despite himself, he snorted. Syndulla straightened up.

"My point is, I know what it's like to face someone who can't conceive you as anything other than a stereotype," she said. "There's no room for that in a rebellion, and I certainly won't tolerate it from my squadron."

She stood up, and he felt his stomach twist. "Please, don't inconvenience yourself on my behalf—"

"You're not an inconvenience." Her words came fast and certain, and she cocked her head at him. "You know that, right?"

He looked away, and she sighed. "Kallus, you provided us with invaluable information, risking your own life to do so, for months. You saved hundreds of people—"

"And sent thousands more to their graves," he muttered.

"Hey." She snapped her fingers in front of his face, making him jerk up his head and blink. "That little voice in your head? Don't listen to it. It'll lead you dark places."

He was still blinking when she took a step back and surveyed him.

"The uniform looks good. It fit you okay?"

Her mind had clearly moved on; it took him a moment to catch up, but he eventually nodded. "Yes, thank you."

"You're welcome." Syndulla turned on her heel. "I'm going to go start a few conversations, and you're going to finish that broth."

Kallus couldn't do anything else but chuckle. "Captain?"

Already halfway out the door, Syndulla turned back to him.

The former agent raised his spoon as if in a toast. "He deserved whatever you did to him with that tray."

The Phoenix Captain just smirked. "Oh, he got off easy," she said. "I got to him before Kanan did."


	3. Chapter 3

“What?”

“Hera!”

“You’re not serious!”

“No way am I having dinner with… with _him!”_

The crew of the _Ghost_ was assembled in the common room, each formerly seated around the table but now in various positions of reaction. Kanan and Sabine were still lounging, ambivalent, while Zeb had leaned forward in his seat. Most of the protest came from Ezra, who had left his chair in distress.

“I am serious, and yes, you are,” Hera said, folding her arms.

“But Hera!” Ezra was practically red in the face. “He’s an _Imperial!_ ”

“He’s no longer an Imperial, and he saved your life as well as Kanan’s, in case you’re forgetting,” Hera replied.

“He also killed my parents!”

“You think every Imperial killed your parents,” Sabine rolled her eyes.

“Excuse me?” Ezra arched an eyebrow.

“The Empire screwed us all, Ezra,” Sabine folded her arms. “At least Kallus was smart enough to defect from it.”

Ezra narrowed his eyes at her. “We don’t know how much he accomplished for them before he left.”

Zeb cleared his throat and leaned in. “Look, kid, if I don’t have a problem with him, you don’t get to have a problem with him.” Ezra was about to reply, but Kanan beat him to it, speaking up for the first time since Hera had made the announcement. “Zeb’s got a point.”

“Wha— Kanan?!” Ezra gaped.

“Ezra, if _Zeb_ can find it in his heart to forgive Kallus, you have no reason to hold a grudge against him either,” Hera agreed.

“He’s an Imperial! Did you guys just all forget that, or something?!” Ezra demanded. “He could be transmitting the location of our base back to them right now!”

“Why is it that you can trust _Hondo Ohnaka_ but not him?” Sabine put a hand on her hip.

“That’s different,” Ezra jabbed a finger at her.

“Is it? Every time we’ve worked with Hondo, he’s screwed us over somehow. But for all those months Kallus was working as Fulcrum…” Sabine knew she didn’t need to finish the thought, and Ezra scowled.

“It’s different.”

Sabine snorted, but before Ezra could retort, Hera jumped in.

“Regardless. Kallus risked his life for this rebellion for months. The least we can do is make him feel welcome here,” she said firmly. “I’ll see you all at commissary at 1800 hours.”

Their captain turned on her heel, and as she walked away, Ezra knew better than to groan.

“She can’t be serious,” he muttered, once Hera was out of earshot.

“Kallus did save us,” Kanan said.

“Kanan!” Ezra protested. “In case you’ve forgotten, Imperials and Jedi aren’t exactly best friends!”

“In case _you’ve_ forgotten, Kallus isn’t an Imperial anymore, and hasn’t been one for a long time,” Kanan said evenly. The Jedi gestured around the _Ghost._ “If we held everyone to our first impression of them, this crew wouldn’t exist.”

“True. I hated you when you first got here,” Zeb smirked at Ezra, who rolled his eyes.

“Don’t take it personally,” Sabine comforted. “He hated me too.”

“Ha!” Zeb laughed. “You were such a brat.”

“I wasn’t _that_ bad,” Sabine contested.

“After a week or so,” Kanan muttered. Zeb started snickering, and Sabine gaped.

“Hey!”

“You were just a little… what’s the word I’m looking for…” Kanan pretended to stroke his beard in thought. “Volatile?”

Zeb chuckled in agreement, while Sabine just folded her arms and put on a fake pout.

“Hmph.”

“Anyways,” Kanan grinned, and shook his head to chance topics. “We’re going to that dinner, and we’re going to make Kallus feel welcome.”

“Ugh,” Ezra groaned. “Fine.”

* * *

Kallus was surprised when Captain Syndulla picked him up and announced that they were going to commissary, but he was downright shocked when she led him up to a table filled with her crew.

“Evening, everyone,” she nodded at them, but didn’t sit down. “We’ll be here in a minute.”

Kallus’s brain still hadn’t quite caught up to what was happening as she gestured for him to follow her to the front of the room. Uneasily, he trailed a few steps behind her. Syndulla picked up a broadcasting device and hit a few buttons, and he jumped a bit when her next words came through the speakers.

“Good evening, everybody,” she said, her voice ringing clearly throughout the commissary. “I just have one quick announcement before we start eating.”

The murmurs died down, and Syndulla soon commanded the full attention of the room. Kallus felt dread fill his stomach.

“Standing here with me is Kallus, a former agent of the Imperial Security Bureau.”

Inwardly, Kallus cringed. He’d been hoping she wouldn’t put him on the spot so quickly, but then again, Syndulla had always been direct and to the point. She continued, either unconscious of his discomfiture or ignoring it entirely.

“Before joining us, he worked undercover as one of our most valuable Fulcrum agents, risking detection every day for the sake of our cause. Without his warning, the Battle of Atollon would have been a massacre, and those who survived it are eternally in his debt.”

Kallus shifted uncomfortably, but Syndulla was only getting started.

“An event has come to light recently, an act of discrimination against this man, because of who he used to be. We’ve all felt the oppression, cruelty, and dehumanization of the Empire, and I understand wanting to strike back against it.” Hera’s voice was empathetic and firm. “But the way to do that isn’t by attacking its defectors.”

There was a subtle shift throughout the commissary; the captain went on.

“Kallus lived through the Empire’s cruelty, every day. He risked the threat of detection, and subsequent torture and death, every day. He lived surrounded by people he couldn’t trust, people whose values he no longer believed in, and chose to stay surrounded by that toxicity to help us, _every day_. And he escaped, only to come here and find the same treatment?” She implored the audience, shaking her head. “I am _ashamed_ that this is an issue I have to address. Acts of hate, senseless groupthink, and such complete unwillingness to believe a person can change— Those belong with the Empire. There’s no room for them on this base, and there’s no room for them in this rebellion.”

Syndulla looked around the room, her stare resolved. “Kallus, Fulcrum, is one of us now. I encourage anyone who disagrees to leave.”

A stark silence hung over the room, until a certain Lasat stood up in the middle of it.

Zeb’s voice rang loud and clear throughout the commissary. “And anyone who wants to mess with him, goes to me. Or more accurately, goes _through_ me.” He swung his bo-rifle and glared. “That clear?”

“Zeb, sit down,” Syndulla murmured.

The Lasat immediately complied. “Yes ma’am.”

Syndulla levelled her stare around the commissary and raised her voice once more. “We are all important members of this rebellion, but our undercover agents are invaluable. Their backgrounds should be viewed as a resource to us, rather than a threat.” The captain folded her arms. “I hope this is the first and last statement I have to make about the issue.”

Syndulla charged the words with a final, even stare around the room, and, once satisfied, returned to her seat.

Slowly and quietly, the hubbub of the commissary returned to its original volume, but there was a new soberness to it. Syndulla re-joined her crew at their table with Kallus, who was feeling a bit like a lothcat with its tail between its legs, in her wake. His heart pounded with each step closer to the table, and he could feel his mouth going dry.

Syndulla didn’t seem affected in the slightest, and she slid into the spot next to Kanan. “Kallus, have a seat. Hobbie, Wedge, I’m glad you could join us,” she said smoothly, addressing the two pilots.

“It was the least we could do,” Wedge said, then addressed Kallus directly. “You helped us escape.”

It took Kallus a second to place his words; Skystrike Academy seemed like it had happened millennia ago. He slowly sank into the other open seat, between Zeb and Wedge, and managed to nod despite his shaking nerves.

“We really couldn’t have done it without you,” Hobbie added.

“Um, excuse me,” Wren cut in, making everyone laugh. Kallus couldn’t believe how normally everyone was acting after a speech like that; Syndulla gave no indication that it’d even happened, and nobody at the table (or any other table, for that matter) was giving him a strange look. Even Bridger, who typically bristled in his presence, seemed relaxed, and noticing that made him think that he could be too.

Wedge made a remark that drew him out of his reverie. “The food’s better here than it was in the Empire.”

Jarrus made a face at his plate. “Really?”

Syndulla nudged him with her elbow. “Don’t even start. You Coruscant kids are spoiled rotten.”

“Hey, Jedi are an abstemious bunch. You couldn’t even find a saltshaker in the Temple,” Jarrus raised his hands in defense.

“Says the man who once blew fifty units on a single meal,” Syndulla muttered. Zeb started laughing.

Jarrus turned on her. “It was _your_ birthday!”

“I don’t even _like_ bantha tartare!”

“I know,” Jarrus grinned, “But I do.”

By now, everyone was chuckling; Syndulla just rolled her eyes. “I told you I was perfectly happy eating ration bars,” she said.

“You’re always perfectly happy eating ration bars,” everyone groaned. Syndulla’s jaw dropped in offense, and she shook her head in mock disappointment at them.

“Ingrates,” she tsked, returning to her plate. Everyone laughed; even Kallus found himself grinning. When the happy murmur had died down, he bravely cleared his throat and leaned in.

“I once knew a man whose unit was stranded for three weeks, with only ration bars to live on,” he said, hoping his contribution to the conversation would be met positively. “He can hardly look at the things now.”

“Ha! Three weeks?” Zeb grinned between Jarrus and Syndulla, and then addressed the twi’lek. “He’d never last, on your crew.”

Jarrus leaned in, jerking a thumb at the pilot. “You know, my first few weeks with her, I would open up the galley cabinets, starving, and every time, there was only ration bars.” He shook his head at Syndulla. “Ration bars, rations bars, ration bars.”

“Oh, you were such a baby,” Syndulla rolled her eyes. “”Hera, I’m hungry. Hera, we don’t have any real food. Hera, are you sure twi’leks have taste buds?”” She mocked, making the table laugh.

“You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you _liked_ those things,” Jarrus shook his head.

“The only thing I like about them is their price,” Syndulla replied.

“Maybe we could spend more money on food, if we weren’t buying a certain someone’s _paint_ all the time…” Bridger said, bringing his gaze pointedly to Sabine.

“Oh, those are fighting words,” Zeb whispered to Kallus. The ex-agent’s cheeks went warm at having the aside shared with him.

Wren arched an eyebrow. “You really want to start this? Let’s talk about that fancy new lightsaber you had to make.”

Bridger turned red and rubbed the back of his neck. Wren folded her arms and leaned smugly back in her chair.

“That’s what I thought,” she said. Wedge and Hobbie chuckled.

“Oh, here’s a good one!” Wedge clapped his hands together and leaned in to the table. “What’s the most valuable thing you own?”

Everyone murmured and nodded, thinking, while Kallus abruptly entered an internal panic. His life until now had consisted of the Empire, but he couldn’t reverse Syndulla’s speech by naming a valuable object of his that was linked to it. In fact, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure if he had a valuable object linked to it. The only thing that even came close might have been his rank badge, once upon a time, and he had ripped that off within his first few minutes on the _Ghost._

The thought struck him hard, that he’d given his entire life to that organization, and had nothing to show for it.

Maybe he was in the right place after all.

“Objective or subjective value?” Jarrus asked.

“Subjective,” Wedge answered.

“So, what it means to you, rather than how much it cost,” Syndulla said. Kallus thought to himself that it was a bit redundant to explain this, but then he caught her exchanging a look with Bridger, who gave a grateful nod.

“My armor.” Wren spoke first. “Paint job included.”

Everyone chuckled. Bridger was sitting next to her, so he took it as his cue to go.

“For me I’d say my lightsaber,” he shrugged.

“Lightsaber,” Jarrus, next to him, nodded. Kallus felt a stab of panic—this was moving faster than he thought it would, and he still didn’t have an answer.

“Jedi,” Wren rolled her eyes, but gave Bridger a teasing grin.

Syndulla was next. “The _Ghost,_ ” she nodded, then paused. “Nobody tell Chopper.”

This was met with laughter. Hobbie went next, telling a story about a memento from his family. Kallus was too preoccupied with his own answer to listen. When Zeb spoke up, though, he tuned back in.

“My bo-rifle,” the Lasat said with assurance. Kallus felt their eyes all turn onto him.

“What about you, Kallus?” Wedge asked. The ex-agent ran through a hundred different options (or really, ninety-nine different lies), in the second or two that passed, but his mind ultimately returned to the item he’d pictured the moment the question was asked.

He cleared his throat. “When… when Zeb and I were stranded on the Geonosian moon, we encountered a meteorite, that was also a heat source. I brought it back to the Star Destroyer with me, and it was ultimately what convinced me to become a rebel.”

“You kept that thing?” Zeb sounded incredulous, and Kallus’s cheeks grew hot. Everyone’s eyes were on them.

“Yes,” he said, and then, hating himself for it, added a lie so that nobody would question his intentions. “I had intended to study the chemical makeup of it.”

“Huh,” Zeb just nodded. “Neat.”

Wedge was last, but Kallus didn’t hear his answer, over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears. He only hoped he’d said the right thing. The conversation continued for a few more minutes, everyone having finished their food, when Syndulla’s comm buzzed.

She pulled out a datapad and checked it. “Duty calls,” she sighed, standing up. “That was a good question, Wedge.”

Wedge tried to hide his elation. “Thanks, Captain Syndulla.” Kallus just smiled; he remembered all too well the immense pride of pleasing a superior.

“Everyone else, thank you for joining us for dinner,” Hera added to the table. She was met with a chorus of murmurs.

“I’ll walk you,” Jarrus said, standing up as well. She gave him a grateful smile, and they departed.

“We should probably get going too,” Wedge said to Hobbie, who nodded.

“Yeah. Early flight training tomorrow morning.”

“With Hera?” Wren asked. They nodded, and the Mandalorian shook her head, standing up to clear her tray with them. “I swear, she doesn’t sleep,” she remarked as they left.

“Wait for me!” Bridger scrambled out of his chair to join them. Kallus and Zeb were left at the table. Kallus was about to open his mouth with a reason to leave, when Zeb surprised him.

“Is that rock really your most valuable possession?” The Lasat asked. His eyes were open and kind, curious, even. Kallus faltered under the honest gaze.

“Yes,” he said. Zeb’s lips curled up into a smile.

“Well,” he said slowly, “I’d better get you something nicer, then.”

And with that, Garazeb Orrelios lumbered off, leaving Kallus even more confused than before.


	4. Chapter 4

In terms of beautiful sunsets, the rebels had chosen their planet well.

After that first incident in the cafeteria, Kallus had been too apprehensive of another one to wander the base without a member of Syndulla’s crew. He knew that one dinner, with one announcement, as kind as they both had been, wouldn’t cure everything, but he figured if he was going to take advantage of the newfound protection, now was the time. After all, who knew how long Captain Syndulla’s words would last?

Pilots and rebel crew members walked around him, but nobody acknowledged him, which he considered an incredible relief. The sun was low in the sky, coating everyone in dusky shades of orange and pink, making the place look like something out of a children’s holovid. He smiled at the thought, that the beauty of a sunset could transform even a place of war.

No sunset, however, was powerful enough to mask the vibrant green twi’lek approaching him.

“Kallus,” she called, with the obvious intention of flagging him down. Being singled out still sparked a nervous jitter in his stomach, but Kallus was slowly learning that not every interaction required a fight-or-flight response.

“Captain Syndulla,” he nodded. Kallus wasn’t sure if he wanted her to approach him or not, but she didn’t give him time to figure it out.

“How was dinner?” She asked, drawing near. “I didn’t get the chance to ask you earlier.”

As always, Syndulla cut right to the chase—he was starting to like that about her, but the question still surprised him.

“Um, good,” he said. No, that wasn’t the right word—too trite. “Very nice, actually.” There—microscopically better. He could have cringed.

“I’m glad,” she said, her voice and gaze genuine. “I hope it won’t be an issue anymore.”

The firmness in her voice indicated that the captain would make sure of it. He nodded and ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfiture.

“Thank you, for that,” Kallus said, his cheeks hot.

“You’re welcome.”

He nodded again, unsure of what to say, and then shifted his weight. Syndulla’s lips held a gentle smile, as if she could tell he had something weighing on him and was waiting for it.

He bit his lip and shot the question forward before he could change his mind. “Can I ask you something?” Kallus pursed his lips; the query had been on his mind since leaving the Empire.

She nodded. “Of course.”

“Why…” He shifted from one foot to the other, trying to place the words in his mouth. “Why are you treating me so kindly?”

Syndulla looked genuinely surprised, but now that the question was out, he couldn’t stop his stream of consciousness from following it.

“I must have tried to kill you at least a dozen times. And I don’t mean that in the sense of the Empire versus the Rebellion, I mean that directly. We first met because of a trap I set to draw you out.” He knew he was babbling, but the words just kept coming, none of them flattering. “I captured your Jedi and stood by while he was being tortured. I dedicated months of my life to your defeat. I just… After everything I’ve done, I don’t understand why you’re trying so hard to make me comfortable here.” His voice raised by the end, his bafflement manifesting itself, and he watched her anxiously for any sign of a reaction.

Syndulla listened carefully, nodding her head. After a moment, without so much as a blink (the woman would have made a killing as a gambler), she finally gave her answer.

“I have more respect for you than you’d think,” she said. Enigmatic, but an answer all the same; he felt a sense of relief just for having expressed his thoughts.

Then, the ghost of a smirk appeared. “Besides, you never succeeded, so no hard feelings,” she added.

Kallus snorted despite himself. “You’re certainly a resilient bunch,” he admitted.

“Yes. _We_ are,” Syndulla said pointedly, gesturing to him. “You’re one of us now.”

Kallus looked down to his new uniform and then back at her. “I suppose that’s true.”

She gave him an approving smile, and he shifted once more.

“I, um… do you have a minute?”

Her eyes flicked down to her datapad.

“It won’t be long,” Kallus hastened to assure her. “I just— I have something. For you.”

Syndulla’s eyebrows raised in surprise, but slowly, she nodded.

“Alright.”

“Good,” Kallus nodded. “Um, this way,” he mumbled. The object was in his bunk, but he didn’t want to insinuate anything, so he just led her there. They received a few curious stares, but the gawkers were quick to avert their eyes, he assumed after receiving a fearsome glare from the captain behind him.

When he reached the door of his bunk, he turned to her. “Ah, wait here. Please.”

Syndulla nodded, a quizzical expression on her face. He retrieved the object from one of his drawers and returned to her, palming the door shut behind him. The hallway was empty, except for them, but the lack of an audience didn’t make him any less anxious about what he was about to do.

Her eyes widened in disbelief at the object, and a tiny gasp of hope escaped the captain. “The Kalikori?” Syndulla brought her hands up to her mouth in awe, and beneath them, a glowing smile rose.

Kallus held it out to her. “I managed to remove it from the Grand Admiral’s study before I departed,” he said softly.

Syndulla took the Kalikori from him with careful precision, and held it in her hands with reverence, as if it would disappear any moment. After a moment of study, she pulled it tightly against her chest, and Kallus was struck by an immense longing to possess something that meant so much. She cradled it with the same loving care a mother would her child.

“Kallus, I…” She looked down at the object and then back up to him. “I don’t know what to say.” If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought he saw tears shining in her eyes—but this was Captain Syndulla. The gratitude in her smile was brighter than the setting sun.

“I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you earlier. There was… a lot going on,” he said awkwardly. _Wasn’t that the understatement of the year._

“This is perfect,” she said, her voice as sincere as the smile she was giving him. “Thank you.”

He shifted his weight. “No thanks necessary, Captain. The Kalikori is yours, I was simply returning it to its rightful owner.”

“No, Kallus, _thank you,”_ she said again, and it pummeled into his stomach. Her gratitude felt like a dense blanket wrapping around him, but instead of enjoying the warmth, he was suffocating. “I can’t imagine what you must have gone through to obtain this.”

 _Any rebel would have done the same,_ he wanted to tell her. _I stopped Bridger from retrieving it the first time,_ he wanted to tell her. _It wasn’t hard at all, and it’s a shallow gesture, and you shouldn’t let it change your opinion of me, because it doesn’t erase the things I’ve done,_ he wanted to tell her.

Instead he just bowed his head.

“Captain Syndulla, please,” he said, refusing to meet her eyes. “After all I’ve done… I don’t deserve your gratitude.”

Kallus stared at the floor until she spoke.

“Hera,” she said. He glanced up at her curiously, and she gave him a warm, honest smile. “Call me Hera.”

Hope and elation crashed over him in waves, and he returned the grin.

“Very well then,” he said, his voice quiet, as if raising it could break the newfound amity. “You’re welcome, Hera.”

* * *

After he and Capta—Hera parted, Kallus continued his stroll. The next rebel he found, sitting on a grouping of crates, watching the sunset, was none other than Ezra Bridger.

The moment he recognized the teenaged rebel, Kallus changed his course, but Bridger must have sensed him, because he turned around and waved at Kallus.

The ex-agent pointed to his chest in confusion, as if to say _me?_

Bridger nodded, and scooted over on the crate. With reluctance, Kallus approached the teen and sat down.

Neither spoke for a moment. The sun hovered in the sky, close but not quite touching the horizon.

Bridger cleared his throat. “So, I, uh, just ran into Hera.”

“Mm.” Kallus nodded, planning to say as little as possible until he knew where this conversation was headed.

“She told me what you did, with the Kalikori,” Bridger added, begrudgingly. “I… I thought that was pretty cool.” He looked over at Kallus with hesitance in his posture, and in that tentative look, Kallus understood the situation exactly. Bridger, a rebel and a Jedi, but still a prickly teen, had laid his version of an apology at Kallus’s feet, leaving Kallus to decide whether to pick it up or kick it into the dirt.

The decision was an easy one.

“You know, Jabba,” Kallus started, with his best deadpan delivery, “All I ever wanted was for you to think I was cool.”

A grin spread on Bridger’s face, and he chuckled, bumping Kallus’s arm, which encouraged Kallus to let out a laugh too. It felt strange, swapping wits with this boy that he’d spent years chasing, but never really known; it felt strange, referring to Hera by her first name, when she’d always been _that blasted twi’lek rebel pilot_ ; and it felt strange, taking time to sit and watch the sunset, when he’d spent his entire life sleeping in a windowless room, and it felt strange, and it felt new, but it felt good.


End file.
